Foreshadow
by Lone.Timelord
Summary: [Original story, situated in the SupernaturalVerse.] Summary in work.


A white face. Darkened rings under once sky blue eyes, now pale and emotionless orbs of nothingness.  
Eyes tired of what they have seen.  
Expressionless, if not for the obvious exhaustion written onto a young man's face. Lines from worried looks, pain, anger. Battle scars and bruises, new and old.  
A face that told more about what happened – or maybe even what was about to happen – than words could ever do.

The face looking back from the mirror barely resembled him, the man thought as he straightend his blonde hair a little, merely by brushing his fingers through it slowly. He couldn't quite believe that it indeed was his own face.  
It looked way older than himself... he was just in his early twenties, but he always considered himself old already - old as a stone. So maybe the surface was only representing exactly that right now? His state of mind, and not physical attributes?  
_Unlikely._ A really implausible thought.  
Washing it out of his mind with a headshake, and a bit of water to wash the little sleep he had gotten last night out of his face, he sighed as his gaze met his own in the mirror once more. Proof that he had been still half asleep only moments ago.  
The man he was facing now was him. Light skin, light blue eyes. The dark rings were still there, but it was him. Blonde and untidy hair framed his face, smoothly outlining his features in slight curls. _He had never liked it. _  
Mainly because of the genetic disorder his mother had passed on to him. It looked terrible in his eyes. Still he never got over himself to cut or dye it any other way.  
The occassionally growing, more reddish blonde strands had brought him some bullying in the past when he was little. The other kids were too young to understand that he did not choose his hair to grow like that and that there was not much he could do about it. And so they made fun of him, even if he was just like them. He looked only a slightest bit different. Children could be so cruel...  
The weird looks he received from time to time had ceased through the years. He had grown up with it and, over time, even got used to these sideway squints. But the bullying still left scars. If he was now confronted about it, he tended to simply mention that it certainly didn't kill him - but it hadn't made him that much stronger, either. He had learned to simply not care about what some others said. That was the lesson he learned. _Other's words didn't matter that much._  
If they couldn't deal with his looks, they were definitely not going to be able to deal with him _in general_. So they were better off with leaving him alone.  
This attitude didn't help much with meeting new people and making friends. He did have some, close ones he even considered as family, and it was fine this way.  
This was him. He sometimes was better off alone.

Slowly leaving the bathroom, he strolled into the kitchen, stretching his aching arms a little. Maybe a little bit of coffee was any good with helping to awake these sleeping ghosts within him. Chasing away the ones he just met in the mirror. The demons that haunted him...

Losing himself deeper in insignificant thoughts about nonsense, like the weather or what he was about to eat for lunch, while preparing a small breakfast for himself, he catched a glimpse of something in the corner of his eyes. At least, he thought he had seen something. Something rushing by quickly by the door to the living room. Turning to see nothing but the empty doorway and the living room behind it, the man sighed yet again.  
It was a sigh of deep annoyance - over himself, mostly-, but also a bit of relief.  
He wouldn't be that fond of people intruding his apartement, his privacy, at such an early hour. Well, he wasn't fond of anyone doing so. No matter what hour of the day it was... who would be, anyways? But 6 am wasn't exactly the time for thieves, now, was it.  
Slowly walking towards the door and peering into the living room, just to check if it really was his imagination after all, he flinched at the sound of his mobile.  
_For God's sake..._ the ringing filling the quiet appartement had scared him more than he could - and ever would - admit. But he was awake now. Completely.  
He was surprised that someone texted him so early in the morning, but it could only be important. When he finally got to his mobile, which was still lying on his bedroom table and he sat down on the bed. Missed call and one unread text? He only missed calls when the person on the other was just plain impatient...  
He immediately looked up who it was that tried to reach out to him.  
_ Alfred Bowden._ An old friend of the family. Neighbor, practically speaking. Paul and his wife Edith lived in the terraced house just next door to the one his grandparents lived in. They moved in quite some years ago, but their families knew eachother for even longer. They were a nice and loving couple.  
Might be even more important - he rarely bothered to text anyone if it wasn't something of great importance and he needed a hand for something... and it indeed turned out to be just like that.

_"Nat, we need to talk ASAP. Call back."_


End file.
